


burn like a wicker cabinet

by ToAStranger



Series: Heart in a Blender [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, Humor, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6312250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles really, really doesn't like the new student.</p>
            </blockquote>





	burn like a wicker cabinet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDamnRiddler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDamnRiddler/gifts).



“No,” Stiles snaps even as Scott throws a frown his way.

“But Stiles—“

“ _No_ ,” he hisses, walking just that much faster down the hall, trying to beat the rush of students that always flooded through the school when the final bell struck, heading straight for his locker.  “I don’t _care_ if you like him.  _I_ don’t like him.”

“Who don’t we like?” someone chirps, and Stiles has to count down from ten in his head.  “Hey, Scotty.”

“Hey, Xander.” Scott beams.

“Harris,” Stiles grunts, jerking his locker open at about the same time that Xander opens his own. 

“Stilinski,” Xander’s tone is equally as droll as he piles his books sloppily inside.  “How’s the beard coming?”

Stiles’ jaw is already winding tight.  “Beard?”

“To go with that lumberjack look,” Xander reaches out and tugs at the red plaid of Stiles’ overshirt.  “Unless you’re aiming for stylish lesbian?”

Stiles wants nothing more than to bury his head in his own locket and slam the door shut over and over.  Instead, he eyes Xander with nothing but pure disdain.  “As opposed to your clown costume?” he asks.

Grinning, Xander tugs at his abhorrently garish button up; all puce flowers and viridian background.  “My mom says it brings out my eyes.”

Between them, Scott frowns.  He opens his mouth, perhaps about to accuse Xander of lying, or perhaps to ask the both of them why they smell so hostile, but Stiles snaps his locker door shut with a harsh _clack_ before he can manage anything more than a furrow of his brow. 

“We’ve got to get to practice,” Stiles insists, already taking Scott by the wrist and pulling him away.

Xander waves them off, smile lopsided, more amused than he is offended.  “Don’t break a leg.”

“Don’t _drown_ ,” Stiles spits back and then drags Scott away.

* * *

Xander Harris transferred to Beacon Hills High sometime after handling the Kanima situation with Jackson.  Things had been so crazy during that time—finding Erica and Boyd roughed up but ultimately _alive_ , handling the fallout of Jackson pulling a son-of-God revival, and chasing off the pack that had gotten a little more than too-close to Derek’s reclaimed territory—that Stiles had barely noticed any fresh faces, even in a school as small as BHHS. 

It didn’t take long for him to notice, though.  Xander, loud and goofy and awkward, was hard to miss.  Especially considering Stiles had practically every class with him. 

The other teen was just as boisterous, just as frenetic as Stiles was.  And, after taking note of him, Stiles couldn’t _not_ take note of him.  With his brighter-than-the- _actual_ -sun shirts, his floppy haircut, his dopey grin, his jokes that only he seemed to really get a proper kick out of.  The fact that their lockers were side-by-side didn’t help either. 

Stiles saw him almost every day at least _once_.  He was acutely aware of him, though.  And during a very long, very dull Spanish class, Isaac had leaned over from his desk when Xander beat him to a punchline that should have definitely been _Stiles_ ’, he realized that Xander Harris, for whatever reason, made Stiles feel _threatened_. 

He didn’t know what, didn’t know how, but he did know that Xander made him feel as though his territory was being encroached upon.  It didn’t help that Scott was _constantly_ trying to make friends with the new kid. 

Stiles could only be grateful that Xander had gone out for the swim team rather than try out for the lacrosse team when Scott had suggested it a week or two back.  At least he found reprieve on the field where he could not find it anywhere else on campus these days.

* * *

“I don’t know why you don’t like him,” Scott tells him later as they’re changing out of their gear in the locker room.

Stiles is still agitated.  Has smelled like irritation all throughout practice; something that both Jackson and Isaac had relentless barbed him about while they were on the field. 

Stiles shrugs.  “I just… don’t.  He rubs me wrong.”

“I knew there was something else going on there,” Isaac tosses a grin their way.  “You know… that involved rubbing.”

Stiles throws his dirty socks at him.  “Suck a cock, Lahey.”

Isaac tongues his cheek, mirth in his eyes, brows going up pointedly.

“There’s no rubbing going on anywhere,” Stiles insists.  “I don’t like him.  And it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“It doesn’t?” Scott frowns.

Lowering his voice, Stiles leans in to the two of them a bit.  “Yeah, I mean… he’s 100% human, unless your guys’ sniffers are on the fritz.  Derek would be pissed if anyone else found out.”

“ _You’re_ human,” Isaac says.

“So not the point,” Stiles huffs, tugging a fresh shirt over his head.

Scott leans against his locker door, arms crossing over his chest.  “That doesn’t mean we can’t be his friends, Stiles.”

“But it also doesn’t mean _I_ have to be his friend,” Stiles pokes him in the chest.  “So stop pushing.”

Rolling his eyes, Scott shares a look with Isaac, who shrugs.  “Fine.  Whatever floats your boat, man.”

* * *

It lasts all of a week.  It is a week of bliss, without much more than the occasional locker run-in and class quipping match, and then Erica brings it all crashing down around his ears, her lips flawless and red and curled in delight as she slides into place at their usual lunch table.

“Guess what I just found out?” she asks, stealing an apple from Boyd’s lunch tray. 

“Whaff?” Stiles asks around a mouthful of what might be mashed potatoes, even as Isaac wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“You know the new kid?”

Stiles swallows, already wary.  “Yes.”

“Well, it turns out, he’s not as _normal_ as we thought.” Erica leans in, voice lowering. 

Stiles bites down the urge to pound his head against the table.  Repeatedly. 

“How do you mean?” Boyd asks.

Erica presses closer to him—they’ve been inseparable since their brief disappearance—smile broadening.  “I _mean_ , Derek found him walking around the cemetery at the edge of town last night.”

“What the hell was he doing in the cemetery?” Isaac scowls.

“I dunno,” Erica shrugs, her tone almost coy.  “All I know is that Derek found him walking around the cemetery, muttering to himself, with a bag full of crosses, stakes, and _holy water_.”

Stiles’ eyes instantly stray across the cafeteria to where Xander is sitting, by himself, munching on a paper bag lunch. 

“Holy water?” he asks.

“Yep,” Erica drums her fingers against the tabletop, pausing to bite into her apple.  “Weird, right?  You think he’s crazy?  Or do you think he’s another hunter like she-who-shall-not-be-named?”

Stiles doesn’t have to look at her to know Erica is casting a glare to where Allison is sitting a few tables away, eating with Lydia and Jackson.  It has been a constant point of contention.  Stiles doesn’t think it will ever be a water under the bridge type of deal.

“He doesn’t seem like a hunter,” Boyd mutters.

“I second that,” Isaac nods.  “But he also doesn’t seem crazy.”

“Something else, then?” Erica’s brows go up.

From across the way, Xander glances up, his eyes locking briefly with Stiles’.  Stiles jerks his focus to Erica and Boyd.  He opens his mouth to reply when Scott slides into place at his right.

“Hey,” he smiles that broad dopey smile of his.  “What’d I miss?”

* * *

While Stiles has always been one for a mystery, he hasn’t always been known for patience.  Or tact.  Or subtly. 

So when Xander meanders up to his locker after classes are over that Friday, Stiles is there, arms crossed, and waiting.  Xander falters at the scowl on his face, brows flying up, but he hardly hesitates before moving to open his locker up. 

“Stilinski,” he greets.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looked like you were waiting for me.  Which, while romantic, isn’t exactly my thing—“

“Why were you in the cemetery last night?” he asks.

Xander nearly chokes, fumbling, and a number of books spill out from his locker.  “Excuse me?”

“The cemetery,” Stiles repeats, slow, like Xander is a much younger child.  “You were in it.  Last night.  Why?”

“Why do you--?” Xander’s brows furrow as he crouches to gather up his things clumsily in his arms.  “How do you even know that?”

“So you aren’t denying it?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I’m not denying it.”  Xander frowns up at him.  “Are you—Do you know that guy?  With the eyebrows?”

“Derek?”

“ _Derek_?” Xander’s nose wrinkles as he straightens back up, shoving his books back into his locker and swiftly shutting it to keep them from tumbling again.  “He looked more like an Angry Ivan with all the growling and the muscles to me.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh and then quickly schools his features, clearing his throat.  “You ran into Derek?” he presses.

“More like he ran into me,” Xander nods, glancing at the occasional passing student, as though checking to make sure no one is listening.  “Tried to rough me up a bit too.  There were threats.  I felt very threatened.”

“Then you’ll know better than to try and mess with our pack,” Stiles’ chin tips up, a thrill of triumph running through him.  “You and your family or hunters or whatever can move on.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Xander holds out a hand.  “I’m not a—There’s no hunting involved.  At least not—“ he scowls, head tilting “—you’re a werewolf?”

Stiles blinks a few times.  “What?  _Me_?  No.  I’m just friends with them.”

“Well, so am I.”

Stiles stares at him, brows furrowed so thoroughly his face looks pinched.  “ _What_?”

* * *

“So let me get this straight,” Isaac says from across the loft.

They’re all gathered there, Friday after class, Peter off to the edge while the newcomer lingers by the exit like he’s about to bolt at any second.  Stiles knows the feeling, and despite his irritation at having _yet another space_ of his invaded by Xander freaking Harris, he feels a pang of pity for him.  He’s practically being thrown to the wolves, after all. 

Kind of.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

“You’re a _vampire_ slayer?” Isaac asks, voice so dubious it nearly cracks.

“No,” Xander shakes his head, fidgeting with the hem of an Iron Man shirt.  “I’m just friends with one.  Back home.  In Sunnydale.”

Peter perks up.  “The Hellmouth?”

“That’s the one,” Xander’s lips press thin. 

“What’s a Hellmouth?” Scott asks from his spot on the couch, sitting attentive at Stiles’ side.  “It sounds… not good.”

“It’s very not good,” Xander bobs his head.  “Much with the not goodness.  Y’know, considering it’s a gateway between here and hell on earth.”

Erica’s expression twists.  “That sounds…”

“Hellish?” Xander offers.

“Yeah.”

“It is,” Xander sighs, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head.  “And uh… well, there’s usually a lot of vamp activity back where I’m from and I’m just… used to it?”

“Hunting and killing vampires,” Boyd intones.

“Yeah.”

“But not werewolves?” Isaac asks.

“Definitely not werewolves,” Xander insists with a heated kind of vehemence.  “My man Oz is a werewolf.  Sometimes we have to tranq him on the full moon, but… most of the time he’s just really chill.”

“So you won’t be hunting _us_ ,” Derek finally speaks where he’s been listening this whole time, lingering by the vast bay of windows. 

“That would be a major no,” Xander offers up that lopsided grin Stiles had become so used to seeing in class, and there is suddenly quite the sense of dread in his belly.  “If anything, I’d prefer to help you.  Whenever you need it.”

Stiles glances sharply over to Derek.  He hopes, he prays, he _pleads_ silently that—

Derek cants his head, eyeing Xander for a moment.  He shares a look with Peter, who makes a subtle gesture that only Derek seems to understand before looking back Xander’s way. 

He pads over, motion smooth, and Xander holds his ground despite the rank waves of anxiety rolling off of him.  Derek claps him on the shoulder, his grin a little crooked but mostly reassuring.

“Welcome,” he says.

Xander lets out a long breath of relief.

Stiles wants to set everything on fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Prmt: stander - okay so. Xander transfers schools and he and Stiles are in the same grade obvs and hateeachotheraomuchomg but OF COURSE they're lockers are right next to each other and Scott's a potato who thinks they should be friends


End file.
